


Some of Us Look For the Way in Opium

by Mellacita



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drugs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Romance, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellacita/pseuds/Mellacita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is injured, and Gaius' remedy has unexpected effects.</p><p>Possibly anachronistic medicinal opiate use, dubious consent, questionable ethics, angst, destiny, and chicken. Implied Arthur/Gwen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some of Us Look For the Way in Opium

Arthur Pendragon was a terrible patient. He knew it. Merlin knew it. Gaius knew it, which was why Merlin was tending Arthur and not the Court Physician. Even Uther knew it, judging by the nearly sympathetic half-smile he had sent Merlin when Arthur had dragged himself down to dine with the court, only to be scolded and sent back to his chambers. Well, maybe calling it a smile was stretching the truth, but at least the king wasn't calling him an idiot or threatening to flog him.

Arthur sat up in his bed, diligently rifling through the contents of Merlin’s bag. It was laden with possible remedies for the injuries Arthur sustained while on patrol a few days previously. He tossed bottles and packets around, whilst Merlin sorted through a basket of Arthur’s laundry.

“I’m bored, Merlin.”

Merlin swiped a blue phial from Arthur’s hand as gently as he could. Arthur’s injuries were not life-threatening, but they were painful. “I can see that, sire.”

“Give it back.”

“No.”

“Fine." Arthur pouted. “What does this one do, then?”

“Nothing." Merlin reached for the bottle, but Arthur held it up even further, gritting his teeth against the stretch of healing tendons.

“No, really, what does it do?”

“That’s the one that gives the appearance of death without the dying bit, remember?”

Arthur tossed the bottle to the end of the bed before Merlin had finished his sentence. He was barely able to hide his wince at the movement. It worried Merlin more than he cared to own.

“Is there any of the good stuff in there, Merlin?”

“What good stuff?”

“You know, the blue stuff. Poppy juice, with the Valerian and all that other stuff Gaius puts in to make it disgusting but effective. For setting broken bones and pulling arrows out. Makes you forget how much pain you're in.”

“And here I thought that was just a knight’s natural fortitude.”

“Well, that helps. No doubt even with poppy, you’d be curled in a ball and snivelling on the floor did we ever need to pull an arrow out of your worthless hide.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. So, where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

Arthur threw up his hands and grimaced. “Have you been paying attention at all?”

“I thought you were feeling better? Why would you need the poppy juice?”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “Just…get it, will you?”

Merlin rushed over to Arthur’s side and felt his forehead. He wasn’t sure why he felt his forehead, but Gaius always did so it must mean something. At least it made Merlin look like he knew what he was doing.It was also an excuse for touching Arthur, not that he needed an excuse. Touching Arthur was pretty much his job, a tortuous part of his job for several reasons, none of them able to be spoken aloud. He tended to look elsewhere whenever possible.

“What are you doing?” Arthur smacked Merlin’s hand away. “Your hands are freezing!”

“No, your head is hot," Merlin countered. He stared straight ahead as he gauged Arthur's temperature. There was dust on the bed curtains again. Hadn't he just changed those?

“Is not.”

“It is. And I haven’t even laid the fire yet. I think you have fever.” He had changed them recently, he was sure of it. How was there dust aleady?

“Merlin. There is nothing the matter with me except for the excruciating pain in my arm. Give me some of the poppy and I’ll sleep and feel better in the morning.”

“I should check with Gaius.” Merlin tore his gaze away from the offending dust and nodded toward the chamber door

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Fine, then. Hurry up about it.”

~

Gaius came up to examine the prince himself. If Merlin didn’t know better (and, actually, he didn’t know better) he would say he didn’t yet trust Merlin’s medical expertise.

“I believe juice of poppy is called for, sire,” Gaius stated. Arthur sighed and leaned back against the thick stack of pillows. “At least for another week. Your arm is still very weak, and I don’t like the look of the wound. I may need to bring the leeches tomorrow.” Arthur wrinkled his nose, and Merlin couldn’t say he blamed him. Leeches were disgusting.

Gaius handed Merlin the phial and held up a warning hand. “Just the one small ladle, Merlin. Don’t give him any more, even if he should ask for it. Juice of poppy is scarce until the traders return, and the other ingredients are potent. It is not to be used carelessly. It can make some men... unwise.”

Merlin nodded. "Don't worry, Gaius. I've got it under control." Gaius's eyebrow met his hairline, and Merlin lifted a shoulder with a sheepish grin.

After Gaius had bundled out of the chamber, with one last, knowing look, Merlin measured out the blueish syrup for Arthur, handing it to him silently before looking up to examine the bed canopy. Bugger. Dust up there as well.

He heard a slosh.

“I told you I needed poppy, Merlin.” Arthur did enjoy being right, although triumphing over Merlin didn’t have quite the same lucre as, say, his father or Morgana had.

"Yes, sire.” Merlin gave a long-suffering sigh and helped Arthur get as comfortable as he could with his injured arm bound tightly and propped on cushions.

~

Thirty minutes later, Arthur was in a much better mood.

“Get out the cheeseboard, Merlin.”

“The cheeseboard?”

“No, you idiot, the chessboard. I want to play chess.”

“You hate chess.”

“I do not. I love it. Especially because I always beat you. Now, get the cheeseboard.”

~

When Merlin teased Arthur the next morning about cheese, Arthur stared at him blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Last night. You confused cheeseboard and chessboard. It was hilarious.” Merlin studiously did not admire the way the rich bedclothes pooled at Arthur's hips, or the way the sunlight shone though the linen of his white sleeping shift. 

Arthur huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t played chess in months.”

~

Arthur was still in pain the next evening, so Gaius instructed Merlin to feed Arthur another full dose of poppy medicine.

They spent a companionable hour on the floor in front of the hearth. Merlin polished Arthur’s daggers. Arthur sprawled inelegantly, laughing at his own jokes whilst trying and failing to give Merlin noogies.

~

The next morning, Arthur looked pale and drawn when Merlin came to wake him. Even his hair seemed duller, flattened from sleep. Arthur was still and silent as Merlin helped him wash and dress, but he eventually managed to get himself to the table to eat his breakfast. He gestured with his knife, its tip spearing a piece of yellow cheese, to the ornate cabinet that held his weapons.

“Clean my daggers today, would you?”

~

Gaius looked up from his bench as Merlin stormed into the room. “Back so soon, Merlin? Is Arthur feeling better?”

Merlin paced around the workroom, kicking up dust motes in his wake. “He’s still in a lot of pain, but more than that…”

Gaius removed his glasses and set them atop the sheaf of papers beside him. “What, Merlin?”

“Gaius, can that poppy juice potion make a person forgetful?”

“It can. Why do you ask?”

“Arthur’s been forgetting a lot, lately.”

“Forgetting what?”

“Well, the other night, he forgot that he was a complete idiot about cheese and chess and that we played a game and I beat him. Then, this morning, he forgot that I had already cleaned his daggers.”

Gaius nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

Merlin stopped pacing and looked down at Gaius. “What if he gets worse? What if he forgets important things, lessons he’s learned, people he’s…”

Gaius rose and patted Merlin on the hand. “Don’t worry. It’s a common effect of this particular elixir. He may forget what happens in the few hours after he ingests it, but not more. He won’t suddenly forget he’s the prince, or that it is his duty to torment you on a daily basis.”

“Thanks, Gaius. I feel so much better.”

~

Another night, another dose of poppy potion. Merlin made sure Arthur was in bed before he administered it, having learned his lesson manhandling an uncooperative, floppy prince from the floor to his bed the night before.

After ensuring Arthur was warm and comfortable, Merlin crossed the room to the pile of mending that awaited him. While he threaded his needle, Arthur stared at him, eyes glittering.

“What?” Merlin asked. 

“Do you miss Morgana, Merlin?”

Merlin nearly choked on his tongue. “I…what? Of course, sire. We all miss her.”

“But you most all?”

Merlin gave a laugh that sounded nervous to his own ears. “I doubt that. Surely you and your father and..and…Gwen…miss her much more than I.”

Arthur sniffed. “Well, I was glad that you appeared to recover from your bout of untoward affection for her.” He punched Merlin in the arm, rather more softly than his norm.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I had no untoward affection for her, Arthur. Ever.” Okay, maybe he had, but that didn't bear thinking about now. Not after what he'd done.

Arthur remained silent for several moments.

“I did, you know.”

Merlin knew that, too. It was in every barb they had ever slung at each other, until suddenly, it wasn't. “You did what?”

“I had untoward affection for her. Once. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s very…even though she drove me crazy, there was always…Then, one day, it just stopped. And then there was…”

Merlin bit his lip, his heart too big for his chest. “Yeah.”

“She misses her though. I can tell."

“Mmm.”

“Merlin. Do you think Guinevere and I will marry one day? I’d like to marry her one day, I think. I mean, I’m supposed to marry, and if I am supposed to marry, I should like to marry Guinevere. Do you think I will?”

Bloody hell, there was dust on the mending basket, too. He was going to have a lot of dusting to catch up on. Good thing he found it so fascinating during awkward conversations. “I don’t think that is up to me, my lord.”

That made Arthur sit back up. “Bloody hell, Merlin. What have I done to deserve a my lord from you?”

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to call you?”

“You never do what you’re supposed to do, you clod.” 

Arthur's smile was so affectionate that Merlin had to look away from it or forget himself a little. He set aside the mending and reached for his bag. “No, I guess I don’t,” he agreed.

~

When Gwen called the next morning to inquire after Arthur’s health, Arthur greeted her with all the warmth of a sovereign for a favoured servant.

~

The fourth night of the poppy, Merlin was losing his mind. Every night, he’d listen to Arthur uninhibited, sometimes maudlin; sometimes giddy with secrets he wouldn’t remember sharing. Merlin would fall asleep on the pallet in the anteroom, half hard in his trousers and half terrified and half wishing he could take the poppy potion himself. Instead, he lay listening to even breaths as the medicine granted Arthur a few hours of painless sleep. He’d wake up in the morning, a little more despondent over the distance between the Arthur he knew and the Arthur released by the poppy; knowing that neither were the real Arthur and that neither of them remembered it, anyway.

Tonight, after the poppy was running through his veins, Arthur told a story about his childhood nurse. How she had taken care of him the first time he had injured himself. How she had told him stories with puppets and laced Gaius’ herbal remedies with honey. How his father had removed her for coddling him, and sent her to serve a baron in the outlying regions.

Merlin listened to this tale the way he did to all the stories Arthur told him, not that they were many in number. With affection for the person Arthur was, and the sadness at what it took to get it out of him.

“Mind you, you’re not bad yourself, Merlin.”

“Sire?”

“As a nurse, I mean. Even if your hands are too big. Granted, you haven’t entertained me or comforted me, but your surly replies do brighten my day. I’d never admit it, of course.”

“Right. Except you’ve admitted it to me twice already.” He'd already snuffed most of the candles, so he couldn't distract himself with any new found dust. 

“Twice?”

“Just now, and on our way to Cenred’s kingdom.”

“Oh, right. Well, I was injured then, too. So I have an excuse.”

Merlin leaned over the boot he was brushing. “One of these days, you’re going to have a kind thought about me when we are not about to die or undertake a dangerous quest or…”

“When you’re sulking over being doused with water?” The lights were dim, the fire low, but Arthur’s smile was visible from across the room.

“I wasn’t sulking over being doused with water.”

“I never thought you were, you know. Upset about the water, I mean. But you dodged the question so purposefully that I decided to let you have your secrets.”

Merlin sighed, a sharp, jerky gust of air, and shook his head. He started when he felt a hand around his wrist. Arthur had gotten out of bed and made his way to where Merlin sat on the floor.

“What was it, then?”

Merlin pulled his arm from Arthur’s grasp.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“You can tell me, you know.”

“Sure, of course. If there was something to tell I would.” Merlin adopted his most innocent expression. Innocent expressions were getting increasingly difficult for him to manage, though, and Merlin knew it. A heart could only contain so many secrets before those secrets started to bleed out through the cracks.

“No, really. I’m not an idiot, Merlin. Every morning since I started taking the poppy, you’ve asked me about things I don’t recall.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. 

“So, you can tell me. See how I’ll react.” Arthur gestured grandly with his better arm. “I won’t remember anyway, although if I ever do remember, I’ll probably be very angry at having been used so and will drown you in hot oil. So, keep that in mind.”

Merlin laughed then, high and strangled. “You make no sense to me sometimes, Arthur.”

Arthur flopped over onto Merlin’s shoulder. “You never make sense to me, Merlin, so we’re square. Come on then. Spill.”

Merlin didn’t say anything, only bit his lip and averted his eyes.

Arthur grinned, loose-limbed and giggly from the medicine he’d ingested, just as he’d been the previous evenings that he couldn’t remember. “Come on Merlin. Tell me a secret. Tell me about a girl you left heartbroken in Ealdor, or something.”

Merlin wanted to beat his head against a wall. 

Arthur wouldn’t be dissuaded. "Unless there weren't any girls?" he asked with a wink.

What the hell. Things could hardly get worse, and truly, Freya was one of the easier secrets he kept. 

"I'll tell you about a girl," Merlin blurted. 

Arthur listened as Merlin told him, voice barely a whisper, about freeing the Druid girl from the bounty hunter—leaving aside the magic used to do so, of course-- and fell in love with her, only to watch as she transformed into a beast and was slain by Arthur.

“I dressed her in one of Morgana's gowns, and took her to a lake and burnt her body,” Merlin concluded. “And then I came back here and polished your boots.”

“And here I thought you just liked to dress up.” It was a light-hearted sentiment, but there was something ugly and unpleasant in Arthur’s eyes.

Merlin hesitated before reaching over. “Arthur—"

Arthur grabbed Merlin by both arms and shook him. Not as hard as he would were he unencumbered by the drug, but hard enough. “Swear to me, Merlin. Swear to me you didn’t know she was dangerous. You didn’t know people would die because you set her free.”

Merlin closed his eyes. “I promise, I didn’t know.” At least not that time.

Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin’s and breathed slowly. “I’m not sorry,” he admitted, finally.

Merlin blinked back a tear. “No, I don’t expect you are.” Arthur’s duty was to Camelot, not to Merlin, and Merlin never forgot it.

Arthur continued as if Merlin hadn’t spoken. “I’m not sorry to have prevented it from killing anyone else in Camelot. But I am sorry you didn’t…well, that you couldn’t talk to me about it. I might have--”

“What, Arthur? Given me some advice from someone who knows about women? Helped the stupid peasant boy woo his magical hybrid lady love before you had to kill her?”

“No. Merlin, I didn’t-- I mean…”

Merlin pulled out of Arthur’s increasingly lax grip. “Forget it, Arthur. You did what you had to do.” He watched as Arthur’s eyes started to drift shut, and once again he manhandled Arthur into his bed for an evening. He tucked the coverlet around him and looked at Arthur’s face, peaceful again. “Just forget it, please.”

~

“Good morning, sire. Did you sleep well?” Merlin feigned nonchalance as he brought in Arthur’s breakfast. He hadn’t slept much the previous night, tossing and turning on his pallet outside Arthur’s chamber, waiting for Arthur to bolt upright and call the guards to drag Merlin to the cells for having freed Freya. For lying to Arthur.

Arthur blinked his eyes against the sun when Merlin drew back the window coverings. “Yes, I did. You must have been especially dull last evening; I barely recall anything but taking my medicine and falling asleep.”

Merlin placed the tray on the table and uncovered the dishes while Arthur continued to bask in the morning sunlight. “I’m not surprised. You overexerted yourself yesterday.”

~

Arthur was well enough the next night to join his father for a private supper. Merlin hoped this meant the end of the poppy juice, and the temptations it offered, but he was not so lucky that evening.

As he prepared the poppy dose for Arthur, he spilled a little of the liquid over his hand. It was viscous, an unearthly blue and hideously sticky. He’d have to be more careful; he didn't want to have to try to scrub it from any of his clothes. After he wiped off his hands, he looked over at the bed to see Arthur dragging his shirt off with one arm, panting with the exertion.

“Sire? Do you need help?”

“No, I do not need any fucking help, Merlin. I am taking my shirt off, something I do regularly without your assistance.”

“You normally don’t have a wounded arm, though.” Merlin set down the medicine and crossed the room to help Arthur with the garment.

“Stop!” Arthur yelled. “I can do it myself.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and walked away. After a few minutes of Arthur’s huffing and puffing, he returned to the side of the bed.

“Do you need help, sire?” he asked again, carefully. Arthur, who was still entangled in his shirt, huffed but offered no resistance when Merlin pulled the shirt up and over his head.

“Is it hot in here, Merlin?” Arthur finally said. 

“It doesn’t feel hot to me.”

Arthur gestured with his good arm. “You’re not wearing your—," he motioned to Merlin’s neck.

"Oh. No, I had to use it to mop something that I spilled in Gaius’ workshop before I came here.”

Arthur laughed at that as he reclined. “Good to know some things never change.”

Merlin hid his grimace behind a smile as he walked over the Arthur and handed him the phial of medicine. 

“Here we go again,” Arthur muttered, then toasted Merlin with the mixture. "Wait, Is that dust on my mantle? You're really slipping."

Merlin turned, automatically. "What, how can you see dust from over here?" He turned back to glare at Arthur.

Shuddering at the bitter taste, Arthur shrugged one shoulder and tossed Merlin the phial. “I can't. But I am sure there is dust there, if you look for it."

It took Arthur longer to enter the poppy’s thrall that evening. Arthur reclined in bed, reading several scrolls that Sir Leon had dropped off before dinner. Merlin, for his part, cleaned and oiled Arthur’s hauberk. It hadn’t seen any use for above two weeks, now, but it wouldn’t do for it to become rusty. That mail was often all that stood between Arthur and his foe—dragons, Questing Beasts, gargoyles, assassins—well, mail and Merlin. Since Merlin couldn’t be sure he’d be there when Arthur needed him (promise me you didn’t know), he could at least ensure the mail shirt did its job.

He was just turning the mail over to work on the back when Arthur let the scroll he was leaving fall to the ground. He looked at Merlin, expectantly.

Prat, Merlin muttered to himself, but he rose from his place on the stone floor to retrieve the scroll and place it back on the bed. Before he could turn away, Arthur smiled sleepily at him.

“Merlin. Sit down here for a minute,” Arthur said.

“On your bed?”

“No, Merlin, on top of the canopy. Of course, on my bed.” Arthur sighed, as if he were the one more put upon in this situation.

Merlin rested one hip down on the mattress, ready to jump up and away if he needed too.

“Further.”

“Arthur—"

“Just do it.”

Merlin must not have moved quickly enough for Arthur, because before Merlin could react, Arthur had dragged Merlin back so that he was reclining next to him, against the mountain of pillows Merlin had fluffed himself. Arthur’s good arm rested somewhere above Merlin’s shoulders.

Arthur didn’t say anything for a long time, just lolled back with a small smile on his face. Merlin lay, tense, waiting to hear what the poppy juice would make Arthur say tonight. However, it apparently made Arthur silent, instead.

He had almost given up and fallen asleep himself when Arthur’s voice broke the silence.

“Do you believe in love at first sight, Merlin?”

Merlin was not doing this again. Love at first sight? Really? That damn poppy juice should have a label on it. Warning: May cause battle-hardened, handsome crowned princes to become complete twats.

“I’m not sure, sire,” Merlin replied instead. Even drugged, he was sure Arthur could manage to hurt him if he knew Merlin was calling him a twat. Or handsome, for that matter.

“Have you never been in love then?” Arthur’s hand crept up and ruffled Merlin’s hair, and Merlin begged all the Gods and maybe even the Sidhe that Arthur not go down another road that led to Freya. Or Morgana. Or...hell. “Never seen a passing handmaiden and decided she was the one for you?”

Merlin thought of a girl not-named Cara, at whose hand Arthur was born, had suffered, but would not die. “No,” he said, finally. “Handmaidens are more your style, aren't they?”

Arthur removed his hand to flick at Merlin’s ear instead. “Ass.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“Do you?”

“Well, let’s see. You defied yor father to save her from Hengeist. Her kissing you broke a magic spell, and I am pretty sure that you hugged her after we got back from fighting the dragon. So, on available evidence, I’d say yeah, handmaidens are your style.”

“Maybe not just handmaidens, though.” It sounded like a question to himself.

“Yes, we’ve established that at some points you have a thing for their ladies, as well,” Merlin said.

Arthur laughed and laughed at that. Merlin was going to have to slap him in a moment. He'd enjoy that. The last time he'd done it, he had been so ill and Arthur had been half-alseep and...

“Morgana?"

And yes, he'd tried to kill Morgana. Fuck.

"Why on earth would you think I had a thing for Morgana?" Arthur was giggling now, and that terrified Merlin more than their current topic of conversation. One slap wouldn't hurt, would it? Especially since Arthur wouldn't remember it.

“You told me yourself.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Did not!” Arthur tried to point threateningly at Merlin, but instead just managed to smush his nose a bit.

“Arthur, maybe you should go to sleep."

“Mmmmm. Good idea.” Arthur slid down, grabbed Merlin’s hand, and rolled onto his side, cuddling Merlin's hand to his chest.

“Arthur.” Merlin tried to take his hand back, but Arthur wouldn’t let go. 

“Arthur, I need my hand if I am going to bring your breakfast in the morning.” Food usually worked, Merlin thought.

Arthur just grasped Merlin’s arm harder, his eyes opening to glittering slits in the firelight.

“I have a thing for servants, I think.” He nuzzled—nuzzled!—Merlin’s arm, and dropped off into sleep, leaving Merlin gaping. And hard. Again.

~

When Merlin woke next, it was to Arthur’s confused expression looming over him. 

“I know you’re worried about me, but really, Merlin. Holding my hand while I sleep? Don’t be such a girl.”

Merlin was thankful that he had apparently gotten beneath the blanket at some point over the night. Because after an evening spent being grabbed by a sleeping Arthur, of smelling his hair and feeling the muscles play beneath his skin, Merlin was hard again. Or hard still. Whatever.

~

It was only two more nights, and then Merlin could go back to sleeping in his own bed, to keeping his secrets safe and keeping himself safe from Arthur’s secrets, too. 

He’d never really wondered what secrets Arthur kept, if he kept any at all. He was only a few weeks into Arthur’s service that Merlin had decided he knew everything about Arthur he needed to know. He was arrogant, and brave, and honourable, and impulsive, and had a sense of right and wrong that must have been a gift from the Gods, because it certainly didn’t come from Uther. Occasionally, new information would come to light—that Arthur could, at times, be ambivalent about magic (well, not anymore, thanks to Merlin), could stand aside while a peasant claimed his tournament winnings, could cry at the sight of a mother he never knew. But none of these things were surprising; they all fit well with the Arthur Pendragon that existed in Merlin's head.

The poppy juice had brought forth more secrets, and Merlin was starting to wonder how well he really knew Arthur. Perhaps as well as Arthur knew him, which was to say, both very well and not at all.

He wondered how well anyone knew him. Uther knew his love of combat; his need to prove himself. Gaius knew his muscles and his bones by each battle scar and bruise. Morgana had known how to push his buttons, of course. Gwen knew him, knew his guilt over her father and his thirst for fairness and his not-quite-buried desire to be a King not followed out of fear but out of love.

What did Merlin know?

More than ever, after nearly a week on poppy juice, but nothing that made Arthur make any more sense.

~

“Tell me a story, Merlin.” Arthur sat at his desk, this time, scrawling rude pictures with his quill, while waiting for the medicine to take effect.

Merlin looked up from where he was laying the fire. “A story? Arthur, grown men don’t tell other grown men stories.”

“Well, since you’re not a grown man, we’ve no problem then, do we?”

“I’m taller than you are, you know.”

“I could still take you apart with one blow.” Arthur tossed his quill into the air, but winced when he tried to catch it with his bad arm. 

“I could take you apart with less than that.” Merlin smirked.

“Yes, you know, I thought you were joking at the time, but that was before I had suffered all manner of indignities after ingesting your cooking.”

“Says the man who regularly uses chicken in his courtship rituals.”

“It works, doesn’t it?” Arthur was all but falling off his chair, now, and grinning like a loon.

“It wasn’t your chicken that won Lady Vivian, Arthur. That was magic. And as for Gwen, well, I doubt it had any effect either way.”

Arthur smiled, slyly. “Do you like chicken, Merlin?”

Penance. This was clearly penance for the many terrible things he had done in the name of destiny. In the name of Arthur. “I like anything that isn’t pottage, as well you know.”

“We should get some chicken.” Arthur lurched to his feet, spilling his inkwell and knocking his chair over. “Guard!”

Merlin sprang up, and ducked under Arthur’s arm to support him. He wasn’t wearing his jacket, just his thin summer tunic, and he could feel Arthur’s skin, hot and vaguely sweaty where he leaned on Merlin’s shoulder.

“We’ve had dinner, Arthur. We don’t need chicken.”

“But chicken is good.”

“Yes, Arthur, chicken is wonderful. I love chicken, too. Maybe I’ll bring some for your lunch tomorrow, how about that?”

“I want chicken now.” Arthur pouted. Merlin had to steel himself against it. Arthur the prat was easy enough to resist. Arthur the pouting puppy…well, it was easy to see how Arthur got as spoiled as he was.

Merlin half-dragged, half carried Arthur over to his bed and dumped him on it.

“Chicken, Merlin. I want to feed you chicken. You should eat more chicken so you aren’t so bony. Guinevere isn’t bony. She’s got…padding.”

“Arthur, if you ever hope to get anywhere with Gwen, do not tell her she has padding.”

Arthur gave him a look that said plainly that Merlin was an idiot.

“Obviously, Merlin. Anyway, it’s not like she has a lot of it. She has the right amount. Not like Cook. It’s just you don’t have any. No one will want to sleep with you holding their hands if you are bony.”

Merlin turned his back on Arthur sprawled out on his bed so Arthur wouldn’t see his expression. They had taken a wrong turn somewhere, hadn’t they? Was this a test? Were Anhora and Morgause and exploded Nimueh and Mordred all gathered around a crystal, snickering at the impossible situation Merlin found himself in?

He’d noticed Arthur was handsome a long time ago. He’d admired his body, up close and personal, for almost as long. He never thought he’d do anything more than look, because Arthur’s interests lay elsewhere. 

Maybe Arthur’s interests were greater in number and diversity than Merlin had given him credit for? He was nearly overwhelmed by the thought, before he remembered that no matter what Arthur felt, if it took juice of poppy to get it out of him, it was probably not something Merlin could look forward to on a regular basis.

Before Merlin could tie himself into too many more mental knots, he found himself falling backwards onto the bed. Onto…oh. Arthur had pulled him out of his thoughts, literally, and onto the bed. Onto the bed with Arthur. Onto the bed nearly on top of Arthur.

“Er, sorry sire.”

Arthur grinned. “My pleasure. ‘Course, it would be more pleasure if you weren’t so bony, but you’ll do.”

“I’ll do…what?” Merlin’s mind was sending him conflicting messages: one said OH DEAR GODS YES! while the other said RUN! RUN! RUN FAST! RUN FAST!

He didn’t have time to listen to either of them before Arthur whispered, “it’s a secret,” and then leaned up to kiss Merlin full on the mouth.

Merlin barely had time to react – Arthur is kissing me. Why is Arthur kissing me? Oh, Arthur is kissing me and maybe I am kissing him back, and oh, this is really nice— before Arthur fell back to the bed, asleep, leaving Merlin blowing shallow breaths into the air.

~

“Chicken for lunch today, sire?”

“No, thanks. I’m in more of a pork mood, I think.”

~

One more night of the medicine, and Merlin would be free. It wasn’t that he missed his narrow, rickety bed off Gaius’s workroom, or that he resented his duties. Much. Gaius had reduced his share of the chores while Merlin was caring for Arthur. The injuries prevented Arthur from patrol, training or attending audiences in the council chamber, which meant much less armour-polishing, horse-brushing, stable-mucking, and button-shining. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to be around endearing, silly, secret-spilling, drugged Arthur without either pouncing on him, or confessing everything, right up to and including the magic and the fact that while Merlin might care a hell of a lot about Arthur’s armour, he’d never fantasised about sucking it off after a long morning training session. That was reserved for Arthur himself. And that was a secret he’d never tell.

“You know, Merlin, you never watch me when I take the medicine,” Arthur noted. “My nurse used to watch me swallow and then make me stick out my tongue to prove I had taken it all.”

Merlin wrinkled his forehead. “Why would I watch you, sire? You’re a grown man, as you remind me constantly.” Merlin measured out the final dose and handed it to Arthur. 

“Would you like to watch me swallow and then see my tongue, Merlin?” Arthur teased.

There was no way to answer that question gracefully. He was pretty sure Arthur was trying to embarrass him, but in case he wasn't, he didn’t want Arthur to think he didn’t trust him. He knew full well Arthur had been taking his potion, given how silly he’d been all week, and how forcefully he'd demanded it in the first place. Merlin turned his back and began dusting perfectly clean tabletops instead. 

“Blah. I won’t miss the taste of that stuff, that’s for certain.” Arthur set the empty aside.

“And to think you were begging me for it at first,” Merlin replied. Oh, if only.

“Oh, was I really?”

“Yes, you really were.”

“It’s a rare occasion when a prince begs, I think, Merlin.”

One more night, Merlin thought to himself. One more night. He could manage, even in the face of blatant, poppy-induced innuendo.

He could manage in the face of innuendo. He could manage in the face of Arthur deliberately stretching his spine and groaning with pleasure at his improved range of motion. He could manage in the face of was that a hand on his thigh? hands, when Merlin helped Arthur lay back into bed to get ready for sleep.

He was not sure he could manage when Arthur reached up to bring Merlin’s face closer to his, and said, again, “I have a secret, Merlin,” and ran his tongue over Merlin’s lower lip.

Merlin cleared his throat, but didn’t move. “Yes, you mentioned before that you had a secret, sire.”

Arthur laughed. “No, I didn’t. I think I’d remember saying that.” With that, Arthur clasped Merlin’s face in both of his hands, and touched Merlin’s lips with his own for a brief moment. Merlin could feel humid breaths pass fill the space between them as Arthur pulled back a little, and still, Merlin couldn’t move. He was watching Arthur’s every move, not quite understanding what he was seeing, and it still came as a surprise when Arthur pulled Merlin back down, rolled him over, and slid Merlin’s blue shirt over his head with one economical motion.

Merlin might have thought that the drugs and the injury would give him less of a disadvantage, but Arthur was able to manhandle him as well as he ever did. Merlin could do no more than close his eyes while his head swam, while he breathed in Arthur’s familiar scent, while Arthur pulled his scarf to the side and laid great, sucking kisses along his neck and collarbone.

“Sire,” Merlin tried, but without much effort.

Arthur made no reply, just hummed against Merlin’s throat.

“Arthur,” Merlin tried again, and this time Arthur raised his head and smiled widely at Merlin. His eyes were bright; the colour was high in his face, and his lips were swollen and wet and…

…that was it.

“I have a secret, too, Arthur,’ Merlin said, his voice rough like he had been screaming."Want to know what it is?"

Arthur barely had time to blink before Merlin caught Arthur off guard and flipped them over. Arthur struggled for a moment, but by then the medicine must have settled more deeply into his blood, because he gave up the fight after mere seconds.

Merlin pushed Arthur’s nightshirt up to his armpits and dragged his fingernails up the length of Arthur’s torso. They needed to be pared, and one of them was jagged from when he caught it on the leather brush earlier that morning. It left a beautiful pink trail through the darker hairs on Arthur’s chest and caused a beautiful strangled moan to spill from Arthur’s lips.

Merlin allowed himself a few moments of play. He pinched Arthur’s nipples, one at a time, which caused more delightful sounds. Merlin was surprised; his own did nothing for him, not really, but it seemed Arthur’s were more sensitive. He pinched again, with nails this time, and when Arthur’s face flushed even redder, he leaned down to catch one in his teeth. He bit down carefully, and watched as Arthur writhed and bucked his hips, still clothed, into the air.

“Merlin,” Arthur muttered. “What? I mean-- ” He looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

Merlin took a breath. He really should stop here. But he was so hard, and so was Arthur. He was whimpering now, still thrusting his hips up at Merlin, still red in the face and breathing hard and Merlin had had enough. He struggled with Arthur’s laces for long seconds before he growled in frustration and the laces came apart on their own. He hoped Arthur was too far gone to notice, but one look at Arthur’s wide eyes and he knew that the prince had seen his magic. 

Merlin’s eyes squeezed shut. Dragons, witches, bandits, trolls, political intrigue and he was finally exposed by trouser lacings. His mind raced. Trouser lacings he undid every single god-damned day. He held his breath and waited for Arthur to yell for the guards. At least he still had his trousers on, in case he needed to run, he thought.

Arthur hadn’t moved; hadn’t so much as blinked, but his cock was still hard, dark and standing out from the undone lacings. Merlin looked at Arthur’s shocked expression, and back down to his cock. If he was going to go on the run, at least he could take the memory of one fantasy lived out with him. He was nearly hysterical with the thought. Life in danger, secret exposed, and he was worried he'd never know what it was like to suck Arthur Pendragon's cock, before Arthur Pendragon ran him through with his sword. What was the matter with him?

Arthur twitched, and the air around them was silent but for harsh, panting breaths. Right. Guards, laws, and self-preservation be damned. He'd suffered through a week of drugged cockteasing and he just couldn't take it anymore. He reached up to slap a hand over Arthur’s mouth, just to be safe, and curled his other hand around Arthur’s cock. He thought he might hate himself a little, when he regained higher mental functions. Or maybe he did suffer from a grave mental disease, because he was pretty sure this was a dumb thing to be doing. He just didn't care.

Arthur frowned, shaking his head minutely for a few moments until the pleasure seemed to overtake him. His head fell back to the pillows as he resumed his thrusting upwards, this time into Merlin’s hand. When Merlin was sure Arthur would at least wait until after he came to summon the guards, he removed his hand and crawled back down Arthur’s body so he could close his mouth over the head of Arthur’s cock.

That got immediate results. The whimpers were back, and Merlin found himself pressing down hard on Arthur’s hipbones to keep from being choked by the hard cock sliding over his tongue. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing through his nose while Arthur bucked up, frantic, until he spilled down Merlin’s throat in long pulses, each punctuated with a desperate moan.

Merlin swallowed it all, breathing rapidly through his nose. It was a long time before he dared open his eyes.

When he finally did, Arthur was sound asleep.

~

Merlin gathered up his pallet and other belongings early that morning, intending to remove them back to Gaius’ chambers. He had cleaned Arthur up and fixed his laces after Arthur had fallen asleep, only then kneeling on his pallet in the antechamber and bringing himself off with strokes that were nearly painful, his ears full of Arthur’s plaintive whimpers and Arthur’s flushed face painted on his eyelids. 

Now, he only hoped the escape the chamber before the prince woke. Merlin wasn’t sure he could look at him in the eyes, today. He didn’t know if he could look anyone in the eye.

~

As it happened, it was much easier than he thought. No one came to arrest him, so obviously Arthur had no memory of the magic. As for the other, well, Arthur had started it, hadn’t he? He’d never told Merlin to stop. He’d given Arthur a considerable amount of pleasure, and gotten some for himself for it.

He could almost believe it, sometimes. On the face of it, it was probably one of his least damaging actions of late. He hadn’t killed or poisoned or framed anyone while doing it, had he? 

~

Arthur returned to his duties, although they remained reduced for an additional week. He was in much less pain. Merlin would have hardly known the difference, had the prince not been a little more thoughtful and a little less jovial whilst dining with court or observing the audiences.

~

“My chambers are filthy, Merlin. When was the last time you cleaned under my bed, anyway?" Arthur asked while Merlin helped him out of his armour. It was his first day back at full training, and Arthur was in a good mood, which meant, of course, that he was going to torture Merlin with additional manual labour.

“Mmm, I dunno,” Merlin admitted. “I’ve had a lot to catch up with for Gaius. Watching over your royal injuries takes considerable time and patience, you know.”

Arthur snorted. “Indeed. Well, I expect the floor to be sparkling when I return from patrol, and that includes under the bed.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, sire.”

~

Merlin was cheerful as he completed his chores that morning, so he didn’t think anything of it when the mop seemed to stick to the floor under the far side of Arthur’s bed. He crouched down to investigate, and when he withdrew his fingers from the floor they were covered in blueish, sticky syrup. He leaned further. There were several puddles of the stuff next to Arthur’s bed.

Seven of them, in fact.

~

Merlin was still staring at the stuff on his hand when Arthur came back to the room. It was far too soon for him to be back from patrol.

Merlin looked up. Arthur wasn’t smiling, but he was alone, and he wasn’t yelling, either. He didn't even have his sword.

“You,” Merlin whispered. Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You…set me up?”

Arthur casually undid one of his vambraces and tossed it aside. “I can’t imagine what you mean,” he drawled, leaning casually back against the door. Blocking Merlin’s escape.

Merlin eyed the antechamber door, the one he had escaped from when Catrina demanded his arrest. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Arthur said, mildly.

Merlin could barely breathe. He knew he deserved it, somehow, deserved whatever Arthur decided to do to him, but…why hadn’t Arthur stopped him? If Arthur hadn’t taken the potion, what had made him act the way he did? Why had he revealed so much? Why didn’t he call the guard when Merlin’s eyes glowed bright enough to reflect in his own?

"Were you even injured at all?"

"I'm a knight. I can suffer through a little pain if there's a higher purpose for it."

"Glad I could be of service." Merlin nearly laughed. A higher purpose? He sank to his knees, out of supplication or despair he couldn't say, but either way, his legs wouldn't support him much longer. He saw Arthur roll his eyes a bit, and cross the room to stand before him.

“Breathe, Merlin,” Arthur instructed.

He didn't realise he'd been holding his breath, but as soon as Arthur spoke, Merlin breathed. He felt a hand under his arm, drawing him back up to his feet and catching him when he swayed.

They stood, silently, for a time. Finally, Arthur broke the silence.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked, quietly. "I had lost hope you were ever going to tell me."

“Tell you what?” Playing dumb until the end, that was Merlin. Then again, feigning ignorance worked surprisingly well on Arthur.

“Any of it.” 

“I…yes. Maybe. One day.” Merlin tried to turn away, but Arthur wouldn’t loosen his grip.

“When?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin shouted. "When there was less chance of ending up with my head on the block?"

Arthur didn't answer.

"I wanted to, you know,” Merlin added. "So many times. But how could I?"

Arthur breathed out, low and soft, and his hand reached up to the back of Merlin’s head. “I know,” he whispered, finally. “We’ve all of us our secrets we wish we could share.”

Merlin could only nod.

“I told you a few, myself,’ Arthur pointed out.

“Yes.” 

They stood in silence, every muscle in Merlin's body screaming at him to run, while Arthur cupped the back of Merlin's head with a tenderness that belied the haunted look on his face. After some moments, Arthur shook himself, and let go.

“Right. So,” Arthur began.

“So?” Merlin echoed. He had to swallow a few times; his throat was so dry.

“So, my floor’s not clean yet, and I'm back from patrol. I suggest you get on that, Merlin.” Arthur gave Merlin a playful shove, and made to leave the room.

Merlin looked at the mop as he forgot it was there and what he had been doing with it. 

“Oh, and Merlin?” Arthur threw over his shoulder as he opened the door.

“Um. What?”

“Bring up some chicken for dinner, would you? Enough for two." He heard Arthur snort in response before the door rattled shut.

Merlin let out the breath he’d been holding, and returned to his mopping.


End file.
